


Through the Snow

by Woofemus



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: “You… would pray forme?”On the way to Stillsnow, Primrose and Ophilia have a conversation.





	Through the Snow

Snow is awful.

To face any trial or tribulation for her revenge, Primrose thought she’d been prepared. Anything else were mere stepping stones, an obstacle that she'd eventually overcome through sheer willpower and stubbornness. It was how she’d gotten thus far in her life, and she doesn’t see any need to change old habits.

Nothing could prepare her for snow.

If Primrose has to be honest, it’s not that very far from sand, in that it somehow manages to get everywhere, but in a very different way. She can’t decide which is worse. This is her first time seeing and experiencing snow, and this isn't leaving her with a very good impression. At least sand doesn’t make things wet. How do people even live out here?

Not for the first time, Primrose thanks the twelve gods once more for H’aanit’s presence. Were the hunter not with them, she’s not sure how they would have survived. Although, they most likely would have bought winter clothes, but they’d have to find the leaves for it first. But she doubts any clothes they could have bought would have amounted to the fine craftsmanship from these furs H’aanit fashioned for them.

At least they're resting right now, under one of the many mini caverns created from the rocks that jut out of the ground at a sharp angle. If it weren't for H’aanit and Ophilia, she's sure Tressa and her would have stepped head first right off the edge of one of these small cliffs and…

The image is gruesome, but a wry smile comes to Primrose. It's amusing to her, how she's finally on the verge of realizing her revenge and how close she can also be to losing her life to one seemingly innocuous mistake like underestimating the _weather._ Her revenge burns hot within her, but the snow is just as relentless to snuff it out.

But she won’t be stopped.

At this moment, the snow is still, with nary any movement on the horizon. If Primrose were to describe it, it would seem as still as a painting instead, as if an artist had made this barren, yet beautiful landscape upon their canvas in a lonely mood. It… gives her a surreal feeling, like she’s walking into a place she shouldn’t be going to, a place better left undisturbed. Their footprints from before are already covered and hidden away.

The sound of laughter distracts Primrose from her thoughts as it reaches her ears. She looks up, ahead of her.

There’s Tressa and Ophilia out playing in the snow, scrambling around as they try to lift their legs. At least, Tressa looks like she’s trying to be one of those giant frost bear they’ve seen, with too short feet and a too large body, throwing herself all around the snow. In comparison, Ophilia is much more graceful, acting like the snow isn’t even slowing her down.

They’re throwing snowballs at each other now. Tressa’s laughing as she narrowly avoids the snowball thrown at her, tossing her whole body out of the way. Even as she’s stumbling through the snow, though, she’s trying to toss a snowball over her shoulder. It sails awkwardly through the air, so slow, that Ophilia merely steps out of the way. Tressa’s mouth is moving but Primrose doesn’t hear anything. Now, they both pause, bending over to pack more snow into their hands.

“Our companions doth be having a merry time,” H’aanit murmurs, resting nearby. She shakes her head but Linde is watching the two of them intently, her tail flicking in the air. It makes Primrose think she’s found some prey and she’s about to pounce, but she hasn’t moved at all yet. “Remindeth me of children, sometimes,” H’aanit continues.

A corner of Primrose’s lips twitch upward. It’s not so bad really, she wants to say, especially since in their current group of four, the other two are exuberant enough to make up for their own dourness, but she recognizes the fondness in H’aanit’s voice as she speaks. In this land where life is so barren and devoid of any greenery or color, any sort of merrymaking is sorely appreciated. Primrose wants to think she isn't so cynical yet to lose sight of even that.

Tressa and Ophilia have a handful of snowballs now and they’re running through the snow again, coming back closer to where H’aanit and Primrose are resting. Ophilia’s standing still now, snowball in her hand, watching as Tressa zips through the snow. Unknown to them, both H’aanit and Primrose are watching with more intent than either of them realize, waiting to see who can make the first move.

It’s Ophilia who does, abruptly spinning her body and throwing her snowball almost so fast that Primrose almost hadn’t caught it.

It strikes Tressa right in the face and she falls backward. The snow is so thick that for a tiny girl like Tressa, it makes her disappear from sight. Even Primrose can’t help the small snort of laughter that escapes from her, hearing H’aanit do the same as well. Ophilia is gaping at where Tressa had been before rushing through the snow.

“Oh! I am so sorry, Tressa! Are you okay?!” Ophilia bends down—and rears back just as Tressa springs right up like a snow covered flower. There’s snow even atop her hat. Ophilia carefully dusts it off, though Primrose can tell she's trying not to meet Tressa's awed expression. Embarrassed, most likely.

“Whoa! How did you hit me when I was moving so much?!”

She's still caught off guard by Tressa’s enthusiasm, and Ophilia can only blink owlishly for several seconds before recomposing herself. Primrose catches the subtle way Ophilia’s eyes roam over Tressa, checking for injuries before she answers.

“I played like this the same way when I was younger with the other children. Some of them were very fast! So I learned to be a good shot.” Ophilia says with a smile, a small of hint of pride in her voice. She must have practiced for a long time, Primrose thinks.

Tressa makes a face. “Oh, right, you’re from the Frostlands. No wonder why you’re so used to the snow already!” She rises to her feet, sweeping the snow from her clothes as she grins again. Her whole face is red, and Primrose can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the snowball. “Ready for another round? I’ll get better this time!”

“I’m afraid I’ll need a break now,” Ophilia says with a shake of her head. All the excitement is wearing off now, and she’s breathing slightly harder than normal. “I’ve not played that much in such a long time!”

For all her running around, Tressa doesn’t even look tired at all. Must be nice to be so young, Primrose thinks. At her side, Linde suddenly growls, and stalks out the cave toward Tressa. “Linde?” H’aanit slowly rises to her feet, like she’s confused before following out after her companion. Primrose doesn’t exactly understand what’s going on, but it must not be serious if H’aanit doesn’t look too concerned.

Most likely she wanted to play, Primrose guesses correctly when Linde shoots forward to leap at the snow and roll around.

Ophilia comes back to replace H’aanit, settling down next to Primrose with a tired sigh. They meant to rest but Ophilia had told them a tale about playing in the snow when she was younger and Tressa, never having experienced snow before like Primrose, had been curious. Primrose thought about joining them, but she’s too busy trying to keep what little warmth she’s feeling inside of herself. It’s much harder than it looks.

“Had fun?” Primrose asks as she cranes her head toward her.

“Yes!” Ophilia beams at her. Even if she's trying to catch her breath, she's so joyous, not bothering to hide her expression.

“Were you homesick?”

“Ah…” The sheepish expression on Ophilia’s face means Primrose’s guessed right. “I… yes, I confess I was a little homesick. Being in the snow made me rather nostalgic.”

“You mentioned being from the Frostlands?” Primrose normally isn’t so inquisitive, but Ophilia is shy company and to see her acting so boisterous as she did out in the snow… perhaps it has brought down Primrose’s own reservations as well.

“Yes! I grew up in Flamesgrace. His Excellency—ah! I mean, my, um, father…” Ophilia trails off, half shy, half hesitant instead. Primrose’s intrigued, but this is one topic she would rather not prod, but Ophilia continues on.

“I lost my real parents in the war fifteen years ago,” she murmurs, and swallows. It still troubles her, that much is obvious. Primrose wants to tell her it is no trouble, that there are some secrets better kept privy within one’s own mind instead than to satisfy some stranger’s—rather, acquaintances, they are—curiosity. If she does not continue, Primrose will not blame her.

Still, to know that Ophilia had also lost her parents too…

Ophilia exhales then, and continues her tale.

“It was His Excellency, the Archbishop, that took me in and raised me... alongside his real daughter.” Her hands tighten on her staff. “I am always eternally grateful that he did so.”

… ah. Hearing this story… is painful. Primrose looks away from Ophilia, pressing a hand over her own heart, trying to quell the sudden pang.

“... I am glad that you were fortunate enough,” Primrose murmurs. Understanding dawns on Ophilia’s face, and she falls silent. “Perhaps, after we finish with our business in Stillsnow, would you like to visit him?” Primrose asks, trying to keep her tone light. The mood feels far too heavy now between them. “We’re rather close to Flamesgrace, aren’t we?”

Primrose is anticipating Ophilia will agree. A girl like her, her first time alone in the world and away from her family? Most people would leap at the opportunity to be able to come home, even if only for a few precious minutes.

Instead, Ophilia shakes her head. “No, it is… fine. He fell ill before I left, so I undertook the Kindling in Lianna’s stead so that she could watch over him. I trust that they are doing well. I would cause them unnecessary worry if I were to come back home so suddenly.”

The pang shoots through Primrose again, especially upon hearing of the Archbishop’s ailing health. “Are you sure?” She can’t help but press. The uneasiness she feels is growing. There is never enough time in the world to see precious family but always seemingly more than enough to regret after their passing.

Primrose hopes that it will not come down to that.

No words come out of Ophilia, but Primrose catches the subtle twist of the staff in Ophilia’s hands. It makes Primrose wonder if Ophilia herself is even aware of her habit. It’s silent between them as Primrose waits for Ophilia’s answer, and Ophilia looks to fight within herself the urge to sojourn back home to the family she still has.

Then, finally, Ophilia only shakes her head. Her whole demeanor has changed, Primrose is noticing. Rather than the uncertainty that surrounded her before, she’s determined now, as if she’s come to a decision.

For all her kindness and warmth, Ophilia’s own resolve might be the strongest trait about her, Primrose thinks.

They’re… really not so different, she and her.

When Ophilia speaks, her voice is firm, mind already made up. “I am certain. They… the both of them are waiting for me at home. I will finish the Kindling and come back to their smiles,” she says, adding in her own at the end. She sounds so sure of herself that Primrose thinks she might just be trying to convince herself of that instead, clinging to her hope that her family will be waiting at the end of her journey.

To come home to their smiles...

Primrose looks away, eyes ahead of her. All in front of her is snow, and if she looks up, the sky is dark, foreboding. This is so much different from the Sunlands, and yet, not. Where the sun beats down in its relentlessness and slowly saps away strength, the snow seems… daunting, akin to a massive fortress: steadfast, impenetrable, towering.

Somewhere in that white wasteland lies her target. Not even the snow, not even the cold, not even the ice, will stop her from achieving her goals. She cannot rest, she _will not_ rest, until the flames of vengeance inside of her are quenched.

But when she is done, who will be waiting for _her_ at home?

 _No._ She cannot allow herself to think of these things. She will not rest until she has her revenge, but she still cannot let her guard down. To dream—nay, to even _think_ about such whimsical hopes would be a great folly, only merely a distraction.

Primrose wraps her arms around herself, tugging her furs closer. Despite that, a slight shudder still runs through her. It must be the cold, she tells herself. The sudden hollowness she feels must also be because of the cold.

“I pray that your journey will be a safe one,” Primrose finally says. She feels empty as she speaks, but she genuinely does wish for Ophilia to come home to her family. A girl still so kind even after the world was cruel to her deserves her hope and naivety, Primrose thinks.

“Thank you,” Ophilia answers. She meets Primrose’s eyes. “I will pray that your journey is successful as well.”

The look in her eyes gives Primrose pause. She… she must be imagining it, but…

“You… would pray for _me?_ ” The words come out of her as an incredulous whisper. To pray for _her_ , to pray for her own hollow soul fixated only upon revenge… for a cleric to—nay, for someone so kind and selfless as Ophilia to pray for _her_...

It is almost laughable.

“My revenge,” Primrose starts, before she falls silent. The dagger that rests upon her hip seems to burn where it touches her skin. It is a constant reminder, one that tells her to never lose her faith. It’s all she has to drive her forward, spiraling down her path even if a dark voice at the back of her mind tells her that there can only be ruin at the end.

Ophilia closes her eyes, and exhales softly. Once more, Primrose catches the way her hands tighten their hold on her staff, and when she opens her eyes and looks at Primrose, they are righteous, and just as vindictive as Primrose knows her own can be.

“Justice must be delivered,” is all she answers, all she needs to say for Primrose.

The two of them couldn’t be so far and yet so close to one another, she realizes once again.

“... thank you,” Primrose murmurs. A sense of relief is washing over her, to know that someone else _understood_. Primrose fights against the smile threatening to crack out of her. “You truly are too kind sometimes,” she can’t help but say, but her voice is so quiet, unsure of whether she wants Ophilia to hear or not.

But it seems like Ophilia does, when she glances over at her with her eyes wide, shocked. She averts her eyes away afterward, and Primrose can catch the small hint of redness on her face that isn’t entirely on the cold. Primrose would tease her ordinarily, but she lets it slide this time, reveling in her newfound feeling instead.

Ophilia’s kindness shines far brighter than any jewel Primrose has ever seen in her life.

“I think... I might like to write a letter during our stop in Stillsnow,” Ophilia says suddenly. When Primrose looks over at her, she’s bashful, uncertain once more. “I-if we have time, of course.”

“Yes, of course we will,” Primrose immediately says. It would be cruel of her to say otherwise. Ophilia smiles at that, and Primrose can’t help but return it.

“After our journey, would you like to come to Flamesgrace sometime? I'd be more than happy to take you,” Ophilia asks, and Primrose can see the excitement that already shines upon her. She's so eager, thinking about her homeland and showing it to Primrose, how can Primrose even think of refusing when a woman like her looks at Primrose so sweetly?

To think, Primrose would be the one to allow herself to be allured so easily by a cleric.

“I… would not mind,” Primrose finally answers, and Ophilia beams at her.

The Frostlands are cold and barren, but the stars and lights in the sky above them shine far brighter than anywhere else Primrose has seen. They still seem to pale in comparison to the smile Ophilia directs her way.

Deep down, Primrose starts to feel a stirring within herself, a feeling she thought had long died when she left Noblecourt to pursue her revenge. Ah… this is…

Primrose tugs the scarf she’s wearing higher up, hoping to hide the sudden bloom of warmth upon her face. In the face of Ophilia’s light, even Primrose thinks her own darkness can start to wane, even if a little.

“A promise, then. I’ll hold you to it!” Ophilia says with a clap of her hands and a wide smile on her face, and Primrose knows she truly means to keep it. Primrose can already see her planning the sights in her mind. And, surprisingly, Primrose finds herself looking forward to it too. It is… a nice thought to entertain, a promise laying at the end of her bloody journey.

The snow, she hopes, might be a little more tolerable then.


End file.
